But now, seeing him for who he truly was, I knew I had to let him go.
“If you want your things, go to the junkyard and look for them there,” I added, my voice cold.
Ezail lowered his head and reached out to hold my hand, but I quickly pulled away.
“Marla,” he said softly, “I may have lied to you, but my feelings were real.”
I almost laughed. How had I not seen how shameless he could be? He hid his lies behind sweet words and pretended to be pitiful, thinking I’d fall for it again even after learning the truth.
But I wasn’t that naive anymore.
Ignoring his sad expression, I pushed him toward the door. In the process, I accidentally kicked over a box by the entrance, spilling its contents onto the floor.
A photo album fell open, and Ezail’s eyes widened as he stared at a picture inside. "This is... you?" he asked, shocked.
I glanced at the photo—a young girl with a black birthmark covering part of her face, crying as she practiced dancing. Memories of my painful childhood flooded back, and I snapped, “It’s none of your business. Get out!